


Aftermath

by disjointed_scribblings



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I'm picturing the 80s, there should be more 80s aus, well mostly modern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:08:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disjointed_scribblings/pseuds/disjointed_scribblings
Summary: "So the weird thing is, I'm in love with you."Amid the wreckage of the Wedding That Wasn't, a conversation she had believed impossible.
Relationships: Beatrice/Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 103





	Aftermath

“Wanna hear something weird?” 

Bea smacked her empty shot glass down on the bar and gestured for the bartender to pour her another. 

“Honestly, I don’t think this day can take another weird thing,” she said, glancing around the banquet hall. Checking on the un-decorating progress gave her an excellent excuse to avoid looking at the man beside her. 

The bartender slid the next round over, and Bea clinked her glass to the other before downing it in one smooth swallow. 

“You’re pretty good at that,” said Ben, and she finally turned to look at him. 

“They packed the food away and took it to a local women’s shelter, but the open bar was non-refundable, so I’m trying to get at least some of my uncle’s money’s worth. Come on, drink up.” 

“What a waste,” he muttered, and took the shot. Bea watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and then quickly looked away so he wouldn’t catch her watching. 

As though she hadn’t tried to divert him, Ben continued, “So the weird thing is, I’m in love with you.” 

Her eyes shot back in his direction. Such an unfairness of this world, that men like Ben looked good slightly disheveled after a formal event, tie loose, collar undone, shirtsleeves rolled up. Bea knew what she looked like, because she’d seen herself in the mirror twenty minutes earlier. Her hair had half come out of its up-do and frizzed around her face, her mascara was smudged, her foundation had melted. The satin floor-length bridesmaid dress she’d been so happy to put on this afternoon had stains and rips in the skirt, and it was lopsided because Bea had torn off one of the puffy shoulder things after the not-bride blew her nose in it. 

“That is weird,” she told Ben, and took another shot. 

Ben was still gazing at her earnestly. It was a good look on him after all the ironic smirks. With the warmth of the whisky still on her tongue, she managed, “You know what’s weirder, I think I’m in love with you too.” 

Because of course she was. 

She had probably always been in love with this dumbass, despite his stupid ironic smirk, throughout all those years she’d convinced herself that what she felt was actually disgust. Even the events of today, which reminded her that men were awful and romance was a scam, couldn’t shake her feelings. 

Ben reached for her hand, and seemed inclined to say more about love or whatever. But this was already a lot of mushiness for Bea on a good day, let alone a day where she was doing shots at 7pm in a fully lit banquet hall that was in the process of being stripped down because, oh, right, they’d basically already lived through a soap opera today. So instead she said, “Would you help me bury the body?” 

“Sorry, what?” 

“If I murdered him. Would you help me bury the body?” 

Ben sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. As long as you didn’t need me to help you murder him.” 

“Excuse me? You say you love me, but you wouldn’t help me murder that asshole?” 

“Hey, the asshole is my friend! Was my friend. Something. A couple hours ago I was happy and excited to stand up with him, and — I mean, I don’t know if my opinion of him can change that fast.” 

Bea rolled her eyes. “Can we get some water, please?” she asked the bartender. 

Ben hadn’t finished his rambling monologue. “But dumping someone at the altar — I mean, who does that? Obviously it happens in movies and whatever, but they never really deal with the logistics of it. All those non-refundable deposits…”

“Hero’s wedding dress cost three thousand dollars and I’m not sure it’s salvageable,” Bea interjected. 

“And who does that, that public humiliation thing? Even if he did suspect Hero of cheating on him — which she obviously did not and would never do,” he hastily added when she snarled, “that’s not the way to handle it. Just right there, throwing out accusations in front of all of their friends and family, who I might add, still all had to shell out for travel and accommodations for this non-wedding. What was he trying to accomplish?” 

“He was trying to destroy her,” Bea said more evenly than she expected after that many drinks. “And I think he has.” 

Ben sighed. “Damn.” 

“What a fucker.” 

“He made us lie about going to the strip club for his bachelor party, too, and say we went to a casino. Even though he was totally freaked at the idea that Hero might have a male stripper at her bachelorette. Hypocrite.” 

Bea had suspected as much, but hearing the truth still added insult to injury. “So we agree he needs to die.” 

“I think we need to wait to have this conversation until tomorrow, when you’re thinking clearer.” 

“Ben!” 

“Let’s agree that we wouldn’t mind if he got hit by a bus on his way home tonight.” 

Bus accident was a better death than he deserved. 

“I despise him,” she said. “I never knew until today that it was possible to feel so much rage.” 

It was true — she had been shocked earlier at the mindless violence that had overtaken her mind, the need to protect her beloved cousin to the death. She was still angry, but she couldn’t quite manage bloodthirsty through the exhaustion. 

Ben smiled sadly at her. “I do love you, Bea.” 

“I know.” 

“And I have awful timing.” 

“You do.” 

“I amped myself all up to flirt with you tonight. Dance with you, and all that.” 

Bea closed her eyes and pictured an alternate universe, one where the hall was dimly lit and she and Ben swayed on the dance floor while Hero giggled into her new husband’s ear. But despite what Hero and Ursula had said — was it only two days ago now? — Bea would never have trusted a flirtatious Ben, not after years of bitter banter and sarcastic snipes. She’d have managed to fuck it all up somehow, that was for sure. 

“It, uh, means more…” she had to pause to clear her throat. “It means more to have you just sit here with my when I’m mad and messy. Than the flirting and dancing. Just so you know.” 

“I know.” 

And they held hands and watched some unfortunate teenagers dismantle two dozen elaborate floral centrepieces. 


End file.
